Again the tears were in her eyes.
“No,” she said tremulously.
“Then I'll say the rest for you. You wanted to come to tell me of the shame you felt when you knew,” she nodded violently—“but you could have written that, too, and I could have written that you mustn't feel that way—that” he spoke slowly—“you mustn't rob me of the dearest happiness I ever knew in my whole life.”
“I knew you would say that,” she said like a submissive child. The sternness left his face and he was smiling now.
“And you wanted to say that the only return you could make was to come back and be my wife.”
“Yes,” she faltered again, “I did feel that—I did.”
“You could have written that, too, but you thought you had to PROVE it by coming back yourself.”
This time she nodded no assent and her eyes were streaming. He turned away—stretching out his arms to the woods.
“God! Not that—no—no!”
“Listen, Jack!” As suddenly his arms dropped. She had controlled her tears but her lips were quivering.